


The Fox and the Whelp

by Luscinnia



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crime Scene, Drabble, Gen, cases
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-16
Updated: 2014-04-16
Packaged: 2018-01-19 15:28:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1474828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luscinnia/pseuds/Luscinnia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The glimpse of a crime scene investigation told by a freshly promoted DS Donovan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fox and the Whelp

” You always want more what you can’t have.”   
“Guv?” I could hear myself asking. I was busy taking notes when my superior felt the need to break his silence. He had been brooding till then, his brow furrowed and his lips pressed together. I was wondering what he saw in this mess that I wasn’t able to see. It was my first time as a Detective Sergeant. I had been nervous and yet excited. I worked hard to get this position, this job in this department.

“Look at him.” He made a short gesture indicating the dead body to our feet. “Tell me what you see.” He said in a friendly tone in order to make me not feel like being on a trial. “He is male. About 35 or 40 of age, hard to tell, he is in good shape. His is married, not longer than maybe three weeks.” I looked up to see the Detective Inspector – I hadn’t been able to grasp his name correctly, something French – surprised. “What made you draw this conclusion?”

 “He is wearing a wedding ring, new as it seems to me. Hardly any scratches or gouges. He lives together with a woman.” I used my pen to point in the direction of the hallway and the shoe rack. “She could have been a visitor over night?” He asked with a frown.  
“No woman would carry two pairs of high heels with herself. She would wear some and have a spare pair of flats in her handbag. If at all.” I explained to him and wondered where the courage came from. I was used to be the one working in the background. Now I found myself in the centre of his attention. “Go on.” The Detective Inspector encouraged me.

“If they had been married for longer there would be pictures of the event.” I added and made a gesture with one hand that included the entire living area. There were pictures of him and her; them together on a holiday somewhere where the beaches are white and the water so blue it hurts your eyes. They have a dried salt in their hair. Rich, I thought to myself.  
“Very good, Detective Sergeant… er…” He looked embarrassed for a second and I helped him: “Donovan, Sir.”  
“Donovan.” He echoed and smiled. It was a charming smile and I remembered his name. Lestrade. “You think it was the wife?”

I frowned. Was it the wife? He was odd, this Lestrade fellow. He had a way that made you think you are on a picnic with your father and he tried to teach you the difference between a beech and a linden tree. “Could be…” I answered vaguely, becoming insecure and shy.  
He smiled again and shook his head. “Nah. Look at the wounds. Looks like he had been attacked with a knife or something similar. Forensics will enlighten us on that, I hope. Anything odd about the way he had been wounded?” He gave me time to think it over and take a closer look. “No, Sir?” I finally said and he made me crouch down.

“This is not a final conclusion but experience taught me.” He sounded bitter, I thought. “Look at his underarms. There are cuts. Only scratching the surface, hardly cutting deeper. He tried to defend himself.” He made a gesture with his arms to cover his face. I nodded.  
“What can we presume from it? Either the murderer was physically not very strong or the cuts would have been deeper or they were not sure about their deed but it was too late to decide against it. His face got completely spared. Not a single cut. Someone liked this face. I guess we will have to look for a lover, an affair. That kind of things or as I said before. You always want more what you can’t have.” He smirked and for a second it made me think of a fox. There was something triumphantly mischievous in that smirk.

I looked down again. It still looked like a dead man in a mess of cut and bloody clothes. How had he been able to draw this picture from it? “Write it down, Donovan.” Lestrade refrained from grinning. Not at the crime scene, although there weren’t any journalists or photographers around.   
The grin was in his voice and I cleared my throat. “Yes, guv.”

 


End file.
